Débâcle

In your private cosmic omphalos –

hot navel of your secret world --

resides the florid sly débâcle

of a Delphic Oracle, whose wealth

consists in unpredictable emissions

bent on counteracting your resistance

to the patently miraculous.

Fractal wisdom emanates in threaded

fumes from it, resumes the bit

about the thing you think

could never be, but is:

siphoning the fizz inside the bubble

of your consciousness: a slug

of the importunate, unfortunate

or fortunate. You’ve got it wedged into

a jello-gray brain curl of self, seeping

onto yet another shelf of the forgotten:

sliding mysteries beneath a misbegotten

spotlight where they quiver, wide-eyed,

thrown, alone. Everything inside you

queues up to be known.

.